


Valentine

by Maddalia



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maddalia/pseuds/Maddalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five Valentine's Days in the lives of Bodie and Doyle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valentine

1974

'Hello?'

'Karen. Hi. It's Ray.'

'Oh. Well?'

'Well what?'

'What's the excuse this time?'

'What, you've just assumed I'm ringing to cancel?'

'Aren't you?'

'Well yes, I am ... it's ...'

'Work, Ray, I know. God, who'd go out with a policeman?'

'You haven't seemed to mind these past few months.'

'Every girl has her breaking point -- Ray, it's Valentine's Day, couldn't you have got someone to cover for you? Someone _single?'_

'There wasn't anyone else. Karen, I'm ...'

'Sorry, yes, you always are. Well I'm sorry too.'

'Look, I'll phone you tomorrow, OK?'

'No. I don't want you to. I think we should call it a day.'

'But …'

'Goodbye, Ray.'

'Karen!'

_Click._

Doyle threw the phone across the room and sat down heavily on his couch, putting his head in his hands, peering through his fingers at the small, square jeweller's box on the coffee table. He'd been going to propose that night.

* * * * *

1975

'Who was she?' Bodie asked, slinging the spare towel round his neck and using one end to dry the back of his hair.

'What d'you mean?'

'The girl you gave that ring to. I assume that's why you wear it round your neck.'

'Actually,' said Doyle, 'there were two girls.'

'And you used the same ring?' Bodie chuckled. 'Are all coppers that cheap?'

'Don't push your luck, Bodie,' Doyle warned, between bared teeth.

Bodie, irrepressible as ever, gave him a serene, close-lipped smile, and began to get dressed. Doyle buttoned his shirt and tucked it into his trousers. He wanted, out of curiosity, to ask Bodie if he was doing anything that night, but he knew the answer would depress him, and make Bodie smug, so he didn't. He watched the dark young man sauntering out of the changing room and wondered what it would be like to be that handsome.

'Got anyone lined up for Valentine's Day, Doyle?'

Barry Martin emerged from the showers with a towel around his middle. A less impressive sight than Bodie -- not that Doyle should have noticed, not the _way_ he did. But he always noticed. Always. He'd come to terms with that a long time ago.

'Me? No,' Doyle answered.

'Ah, I'm surprised -- good looking lad like you?'

'I don't go out on Valentine's Day,' Doyle said shortly. 'What about you Barry -- got anyone?'

'Got Georgia on my mind,' Barry quipped, buttoning and zipping up his trousers. 'And with any luck, in my bed, later.'

'Oh, all the best, old son,' Doyle told him with a grin. 'Once more into the breach …'

 _'Once_ more, you must be joking! Lot of life in this yet.' Barry looked himself up and down lasciviously, making Doyle laugh. 'Anyway, it's a good thing you're not rushing off, Doyle, because Cowley wants to see you.'

'Shit,' said Doyle, glancing at his watch. 'When?'

'Five minutes.'

'Alright. See you, Barry.'

Four and a half minutes later, slightly out of breath, and his hair still damp, Doyle knocked on the door of the Controller's office. He heard the sharp 'Come in!' and hoped he wasn't in for a telling-off. He wasn't in the mood. Strictly speaking he was over Karen, but it didn't make the anniversary of his failed proposal any easier. He went through his actions over the past few days, trying to think of a reason for Cowley to ask for him, but he couldn't think of anything. He opened the door and went in.

'Ah, Doyle, sit down,' said Cowley. He didn't look _un_ friendly. Nor did he beat about the bush. 'You've been with CI5 six months now, you've been through your initial assignments, and you've completed what training you need for the present. I'm pleased with you and I'll be putting you on the A-squad.'

Doyle couldn't have suppressed his smile if he'd wanted to. This was the news he'd been dying to hear for days. Why it hadn't occurred to him that _this_ was why Cowley had wanted to see him, he wasn't sure.

 _Bloody Valentine's Day, turning me into a pessimist?_ he speculated to himself.

'Thank you, sir!' he answered.

'Och, you've earned it,' said Cowley. 'Now, your various test results, including your psychological assessments, show me that you'll be at your best working with a partner. However, I also realise that you specifically requested to be made a solo agent. Can you tell me why that is?'

Doyle resented being asked a question to which he was fairly sure Cowley already knew the answer, but he had no choice but to speak.

'Last time I worked with a partner he got shot and killed,' said Doyle. 'It was an experience I'd rather not risk repeating.'

'Do you feel his death was your fault?'

'No, sir.'

'But you don't want to get close to anyone.'

'If you want to put it like that, I s'pose not, sir.'

'It doesn't matter,' said Cowley. 'You follow orders, Doyle, _my_ orders, and _I_ say you'll be partnered. What do you think of Bodie?'

_That's either an abrupt change of subject, or a pointless question, because he's obviously already decided._

'He's a good agent, sir.'

'What about as a man?'

'I don't know him all that well, sir.'

'Would you say you liked him?'

'Well enough,' Doyle said stiffly. 'Barry Martin paired us off in training a few times. So did Macklin. I know we can work together.'

'I've come to the same conclusion,' said Cowley. 'You're very different, but that may well be to our advantage. Nevertheless, it does well to be cautious. A trial period, I think. Three months.'

'Yes sir.'

'Bodie's agreed to this, of course. I saw him earlier this afternoon.'

'Ah.' _So_ that's _why he was poking his nose into my business. He already knew we'd be working together._

'That's all, then, Doyle.'

'Thank you, sir.'

Doyle left Cowley's office feeling considerably wearier than when he'd walked in. A day's training with Martin and Macklin could be less exhausting than a chat with his boss. And now he'd be working with Bodie, with whom he got on better than any of his other fellow recruits -- and liked the least.

* * * * *

1976

Doyle took a wheezing, gasping breath, trying to pull himself together and stop the tears from streaming down his face. Bodie was in similar shape. Doyle couldn't even remember what had started them laughing now. But, he recalled abruptly, it was a year ago today that Cowley had partnered them. He'd started all this. Doyle hadn't even liked Bodie that much then -- he'd respected him, and had faith in him, but that wasn't the same thing. They'd always had compatible, if in some ways very different, personalities, so Doyle had hoped his partner would grow on him. Now … _what_ hadn't he liked about Bodie? How could he _not_ have liked Bodie? Who else could make him laugh like this? Who else could he _make_ laugh like this?

'Ah, well, it's not the cosy little dinner and cosier afters I had planned, but it could be worse,' Bodie said. He inclined his Thermos flask towards Doyle as if he were making a toast, then threw back his head and drank deeply from it. Doyle watched his throat working. A well-oiled machine, Bodie said he was. Seemed to be in perfect working order. Although not enjoying the oil very much, if the look on his face when he lowered his head was anything to go by.

'What've you got in there, anyway?' Doyle asked.

'Chicken soup,' Bodie answered, making a face. 'And vodka.'

Doyle made a similar face. 'Christ.'

'Why, what've you got that's so special?' Bodie grabbed Doyle's flask and took a sip. 'Mmm! Coffee and brandy. Nice. Be alright if it filled you up at all -- how are you not starving? Or is there as little room in there as it looks?' He insinuated his finger between two of Doyle's shirt buttons and swiped at the bare skin underneath.

'Oi!' Doyle burst out laughing again and twisted away. Bodie looked delighted, and asked the predictable question: was he ticklish?

'What do you think? I s'pose you're made of iron are you?'

Doyle tickled Bodie under his ribs; Bodie yelped and got hurriedly to his feet, holding the open flask above his head. He put it down in the corner, out of the way, as Doyle came at him, yanked him into the middle of the room, and tugged at the bottom of his polo neck. He managed to free a portion of it from the waistband of Bodie's trousers, but came up against the added obstacle of vest. Bodie giggled and dodged, batting Doyle's hands away, then shoving at him, but Doyle was persistent. Shaking with mirth, he pulled up the vest, baring Bodie's soft, white stomach, then nipped behind him and slipped his arms around his waist, tickling him until his knees buckled and they both collapsed, still laughing hopelessly,

Then a floorboard creaked near the open door.

Their heads snapped up in unison. Panicked expressions relaxed into smiles: it was only Anson.

'Erm.' He looked down at them, cigar in one hand and manilla folder in the other. 'I brought you that file. Cowley said …'

'Ye-eah,' said Bodie.

'Cheers mate,' said Doyle. He struggled to his feet, but Bodie grabbed his ankle and he went crashing down. Bodie stood up smoothly and, with his most charming smile, took the file from Anson.

'Don't mind the golly, he's terribly uncouth you know.'

'Oi!' Doyle barked, from the floor. He looked around for something nearby to throw at Bodie's head, but since their current base was the stripped-out top floor of a condemned house, there was nothing immediately to hand.

'Have fun, lads,' was Anson's only response. He flashed a grin around his cigar, and left the room. Once the door had closed behind him, Doyle met Bodie's eyes, and they both burst out laughing again. Bodie put down a hand, hauled Doyle to his feet, and clapped him on the back.

'Come on, let's have another drink. Such as it is.'

He retrieved his flask and sat back down on the blow-up mattress that was serving them as a couch. Doyle joined him.

'Should've given us a waterbed,' said Bodie, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

'Forget it, mate. I don't come across on the first date.'

'Ooh -- not that kind of girl?'

'Absolutely not!' Doyle replied, in a posh, high-pitched voice. Bodie nearly spat out his mouthful of soup. He swallowed with difficulty, coughed, guffawed, and made a swipe at Doyle's hair.

'Christ. This stuff must be lethal, that wasn't even that funny.'

'Best gags never are -- they just appeal to your sense of the ridiculous.'

'Well, I've had lots of practice developing one of those, working with you for a year.'

'Oh, _dah-ling,_ you remembered!' Doyle camped.

'What?' Bodie grinned.

'Our anniversary,' Doyle replied laughingly. 'Cowley partnered us a year ago today.'

'That's right, he did didn't he?' Bodie's grin widened and became fonder. 'Good day, that was. Good night, too. Just been told I made the A-squad, and I got to spend the evening with the lovely Hannah.'

'I take it you weren't planning on seeing the lovely Hannah again this year?'

'Nah, it's the lovely _Rachel_ this year.' Bodie wrinkled his nose. 'Or was. How 'bout you?'

'Not me, mate. I don't go out on Valentine's Day.'

'What? That's crazy! You're almost guaranteed a result. Any girl who's not in a long-term romantic relationship on Valentine's Day is a sure thing, Ray, believe me.'

'Don't you ever think there's more to life than sex?' Doyle asked irritably.

'Yeah. When bloody Cowley sticks me on an obbo on Valentine's Day, it somehow dawns on me there's work, too.' Bodie paused, looked at Doyle, looked away, then rolled his eyes, as if about to do something against his own better judgement. 'Oh, go on then, spill it, tell me why you don't go out.'

'Well, you remember that ring I used to wear round my neck?'

'Vaguely, yeah.' Bodie's expression was nonchalant, but Doyle knew him well enough to be sure he remembered exactly -- and had been dying to know the story behind it.

'Well, the first girl I gave that ring to, I proposed to her on Valentine's Day. She walked out on me six months later. Second girl broke it _off_ on Valentine's Day, before I even had a chance to propose. I was called into work, last minute. Obviously I'd stood her up one too many times.'

'So now you don't take any chances?'

'Something like that.'

Doyle was starting to feel uncomfortable about discussing something so close to his chest, especially with someone who'd as likely laugh at him as listen. But Bodie didn't say anything. He merely nodded thoughtfully. Then, after a minute or so, he opened the file, divided its contents between the two of them, and they lapsed into a comfortable working silence.

* * * * *

1977

'Some people have all the luck.'

'Mmm?' Doyle turned his head sideways to see Bain standing beside him, looking over his shoulder at the noticeboard.

'What'd you bribe the old man with to get Valentine's Day off?'

'Nothing. Luck of the draw I s'pose. Anyway, Bodie and I had to work it last year.'

He glanced at Bodie as he said his name. Bodie, leaning against the opposite wall, nodded agreement. He watched a tiny frown flit across Doyle's features. It was too quick for Bain to notice, but Bodie saw it. And he knew what it meant. Doyle had seen him: seen him watching. He'd seen the expression Bodie had caught on his own face in mirrors and glass windows from time to time, if he happened to be near one while he was thinking about his partner. The expression that had surprised and frightened Bodie, forcing him to admit what he wanted.

No more or less than Ray.

Wesley, Bain's partner, came down the corridor then. He was a cheery sort, quite new to the squad. The two of them had only been partnered a few months, but they were already close: closer than Bodie and Doyle had been at the same stage. But there'd never been tension between them. They appeared to have become quickly like brothers, sharing a deep but uncomplicated love born of duty. Bodie knew he and Doyle would never have that -- not the uncomplicated part, anyway. Nor would he have swapped what they _did_ have. Which, he decided this evening, was _potential._ Doyle's next glance in his direction was speculative.

_You want me. You want me? Interesting. Question is, do I want you?_

It wasn't a 'no', anyway.

'Come on, Rob. Cowley wants us.' Wesley hooked an arm round Bain's neck and dragged him off in the direction of the Controller's office. As they rounded the corridor, Bain struggled out of his partner's grip and got him in a headlock.

'Ah, young love,' joked Doyle.

'Rather Bain than me,' replied Bodie. He kept his voice light, but he allowed his eyes to flicker up and down Doyle's body: a split-second look that could be explained away as nothing.

_Why would I want Wesley when I could have you?_

One corner of Doyle's mouth twitched infinitesimally upwards, as _his_ eyes flicked up and down in turn.

_It's mutual, mate._

'So we've got the fourteenth off?' Bodie asked. Doyle nodded.

'Good. I'll take Patricia out -- and you, my son, can start exorcising those Valentine demons.'

'What d'you mean?' Doyle looked suspicious, as if he thought he was going to be pushed into something he didn't want to do.

'C'mon, let's get a cuppa,' said Bodie. 'I mean, Patricia has a friend. Sophie. Newly single, in need of some male company. I thought, maybe,' _you and I,_ 'we could all go out.'

'And then what?' Doyle asked sarcastically, closing the rest room door behind them and moving towards the kettle. 'New romance to make me forget?'

'How about a night of good sex' _with me if I have my way_ 'to remind you there's more to life than romance?' said Bodie. 'When did you last score?'

'Three nights ago. Jenny. One night of _moderately good_ sex, waking up with a hangover and a crick in my neck because her pillows were too hard, not to mention her cat standing on my chest and peering into my face. Who's to say this one's going to be any different?'

 _Christ, you're in a mood and a half._ 'Valentine's Day, Doyle! Magic!' Bodie grinned, trying to keep it light.

Doyle smiled back. 'OK, so what, I go out with this Sophie and just because it's Valentine's Day, it's automatically all ...' He pursed his lips and made kissing noises.

Quick as lightning, Bodie leaned forward and pressed his lips to Doyle's.

'Haha, gotcha!' he cried out in triumph, as if it were all purely in fun, and he dodged away to the other side of the room. Predictably, Doyle pursued him, catching him by the shoulder. Less predictably, Doyle's hand shot around him and clamped down on the back of his neck.

Doyle's lips were soft and sweet; the kiss was rough and insistent, but all too quick.

'Called your bluff, mate,' he said huskily.

They stared at each other: two pulses, two ragged breaths, and the rest of the world was empty. Then Bodie kissed him again, tenderly.

'Called yours.'

The next kiss was a mutual coming together, both mouths open at the same moment, tongues warring before they relaxed and explored, stubbled jaws scratching against each other, calloused hands tracing skin and bone, Doyle's slim, muscled arms winding around him, Bodie's hands slipping down to Doyle's hips in response, and they were pulling each other closer ...

'Not here,' Doyle gasped, wrenching himself suddenly backwards.

'God, you're right.' Bodie came to his senses. How could they have been so reckless? All right, it was seven at night, they were on standby, almost alone in the building, but Cowley was still there; he could have walked in at any moment ... Bodie's heart beat painfully against his ribs. They'd just risked ... everything.

But no regrets. He'd do it again in an instant.

'Valentine's Day,' he said. The words were a promise.

'No birds?' Doyle asked. Bodie smiled and shook his head. Doyle smiled back, the sun of Bodie's universe, and came to him again, hugging him, resting his head in the juncture of Bodie's neck and shoulder, stealing another few seconds before real life started again.

'Just my own personal exorcist.'

'All yours,' Bodie sighed into his ear.

*

'Should've known it was too good to be true,' grumbled Bodie, two days later. The sun had set on a Valentine's Day that had been spent, not relaxing at home in anticipation of an unforgettable night out -- or in, as Bodie had hoped -- but on the tail of an IRA scalphunter. It was a sensitive job that Cowley wanted his best men to take, never mind what they might have planned, and how was he to know they'd been planning a night to change the course of their lives? All their chasing around, cracking their knuckles and asking questions, had turned up potentially devastating information: someone was building a bomb, it was due to be handed over to those who'd use it at midnight that night, and _all_ leave, not just theirs, was therefore postponed or cancelled. Bodie and Doyle were stuck down a narrow lane in a car, with Cowley barking down the R/T at them every few minutes. They could ill afford distraction.

They sat mostly in silence, only talking when it was absolutely necessary. The air between them sizzled, speaking of a promise that the job, not either of them, was making them break. It was freezing cold, but Bodie felt the heat rise in his body whenever they accidentally touched. Their hands had brushed, reaching for the radio; Doyle's was warm, and Bodie wanted so badly to take it, enfold it in both of his, feel its deceptively delicate structure, kiss each rough fingertip -- a ritual of worship he intended to repeat over Doyle's entire body, until he was rigid with tension, moaning and thrashing on the bed, mindless with the need to come.

Two days of fantasising about what had seemed so forbidden and out of reach had nearly driven Bodie out of his mind, and now the climax of it all -- in both senses of the word -- was being denied him. In the village that slept two hundred yards down the road, the church clock struck ten.

'Bodie,' Doyle spoke softly into the silence.

'Yeah?'

'I was thinking ...'

'Careful, you might strain something.'

'I'm serious. I think, maybe, this was a sign. That we shouldn't -- you know.'

'You ...' Bodie was speechless with disappointment. Lust, and the need to possess what was slipping through his fingers, raged through him to the extent that he could almost have taken it by force, never mind where they were and what they were supposed to be doing. What stopped him was respect for his partner, his knowledge that they were equals, and something else. The hardest thing to admit, but the best reason for all of it -- for any of it. The reason why Doyle's rejection cut him to the marrow. He clenched his fists.

'It's not that I don't want to,' Doyle qualified, still in that quiet, almost dreamy voice. 'As a matter of fact I've thought about nothing else for the past two days.'

'Me either, so why ...?'

'The job,' said Doyle. He shrugged. He turned in his seat, looked Bodie in the eye. 'Bodie, if we did this, it couldn't be a one-off. It wouldn't be casual -- not for me. D'you understand? You mean a lot. Too much. When you kissed me ... Christ, you probably don't want to hear this.'

'Ray ...' Bodie opened his mouth to contradict him, to put paid to _that_ kind of thinking straightaway, but Doyle continued over him.

'But if you did, if _we_ did what we were thinking of doing, the risks -- they'd be astronomical. You must see that. Sitting here now with nothing to do but think, I bloody well can. And it's our job that did that. We should've been at your place tonight. We should've been in your bed -- God, can you imagine?'

'Vividly,' said Bodie. He dared to reach over, to touch Doyle's cheek with cold fingertips. 'Looks pretty good to me.'

'I think it's an omen. The job's giving us a sign. It's got to come first for both of us. We can't take the risk of being together, being caught, or _not_ being caught, falling out and wrecking the partnership ...'

'That could never happen,' Bodie told him firmly. He was as certain of it as he made himself sound.

'Alright, so if I unleash all this -- this _stuff_ in here' -- Doyle punched himself in the chest as if his feelings offended him -- 'what if I become so terrified of losing you that I can't do my job?'

'You won't, Ray. You're a pro. We both are.' He reached out to Doyle again, but Doyle grabbed his hand and stopped him.

'I can't do this now, Bodie,' he said, almost pleadingly. 'I'm not saying never. Just not now.'

'Still hung up on your Valentines?' Bodie asked bitterly, though he knew that wasn't true; he just wanted to deal out a bit of the hurt Doyle had made _him_ feel. But Doyle's sorrowful expression only made him feel worse.

'Don't think that,' Doyle whispered.

He kissed the hand he held, pressed it to his lips for a long time, then abruptly let go and turned to face forward again, as if Bodie's flesh had suddenly burned him.

* * * * *

1978

It was Valentine's Day, though it was before dawn, and they were sitting in a car again, this time on a street in Islington. In a few minutes they'd be raiding one of the houses. Doyle was silent in the passenger seat beside Bodie. Though he was plainly awake, tense and alert, his eyes were shut. Bodie watched him, taking in the steady rise and fall of his chest, the curls of brown hair emerging from the neck of his shirt, the broad shoulders tapering into slim neck, and his face, so beautiful in profile, the bump of damaged cheekbone merely an aspect of it, not a detraction from it. Bodie knew every feature by heart, every angle, every curve, and every line too, though in the dim light of headlamps and streetlamps, Doyle's face looked smooth and young.

Bodie was going to be thirty in a few months. Thirty. All through his youth and his twenties it had seemed such an advanced age. Now it was upon him. He didn't fear it, didn't feel old; CI5 was keeping him fit and improving his figure. He wasn't bored, he wasn't stagnating. But on odd mornings, when he was especially tired, he looked into the mirror and noticed the fine lines around his eyes and mouth, and how the furrows in his forehead, as he squinted bloodshot, heavily shadowed eyes, didn't quite smooth out anymore.

You couldn't turn back from age. Most days Bodie felt it added a certain charm. He had a few photos from his youth and knew he was handsomer now, in his relative maturity. It wasn't that he minded getting older; there was just a creeping, discomfiting knowledge that came upon him now and again:

_It's not always going to be like this._

Bodie had been ready for change a year ago. He'd felt poised on the edge of something wonderful. Settling down -- he'd never wanted that, not ever. Even with the women he'd loved, or thought he'd loved, he'd never visualised that. 'The future' was a foreign concept, something very far away, a dim, not-quite real eventuality. He supposed he'd never really believed he _had_ a future with those women. He'd been right.

But with Ray ...

In the seconds after their first kiss, Bodie had seen the years unfolding before him as if he were watching them on TV. It had seemed so clear, so reassuring. And _real._ He hadn't seen perfection when he'd visualised his future with Doyle. He knew there'd be fights; he knew there'd be awkwardness, irritation, frustration, as they adjusted to each other's habits and foibles, and probably _after_ they'd adjusted. He knew that one night he was bound to have one of his Africa nightmares, wake up sweating and gasping, maybe even screaming, and Doyle would be next to him, bearing full witness to a moment of weakness that no one was meant to see. Except -- maybe Doyle _was_ meant to. If they could come to know, and to trust each other, more completely than they did now, it could only be good.

They worked together -- fought together -- why not live together? They were partners. Maybe they wouldn't clash over every little thing. Surely they'd tolerate each other most of the time, like they did now. The sex would be phenomenal, Bodie was sure of that, considering how Doyle made him feel just by existing. And there'd be quiet moments, too, when they just enjoyed each other's company; there'd be jokes and laughter and fooling, but best of all there'd be Doyle just being Doyle, by Bodie's side, forever.

Bodie had liked what he saw in his imagined future. It had seemed pleasant, stable, secure ... and, if CI5 didn't kill them, inevitable.

Or so he'd thought. But nothing had happened between them in the year since that kiss. The subject hadn't even come up. They'd just gone on as normal, and Bodie had ached, and longed, and wondered if the whole thing had been a dream, except that sometimes Doyle did something, or said something, or looked at him a certain way, and Bodie remembered he was loved.

But Doyle had said 'not now.' It was up to him to decide when the time was right. Bodie would have to be patient, so patient he was.

*

'Go.'

Doyle kicked in the door. Bodie went in first with his gun. Somewhere in the house, a woman screamed. A man's warning voice called out something unintelligible. The back door banged, but that was useless as an escape route; Lucas and McCabe were back there. Benny, Lewis and Murphy, three solo agents, were out the front as backup, but Bodie and Doyle were the main event. A gun went off. There was more screaming, this time from further down the street.

Someone appeared at the top of the stairs and fired a gun. Doyle dodged out the way just in time. Bodie fired back, but the someone ducked, then ran. Bodie touched Doyle on the arm and took off after the gunman. On the landing he dropped and rolled, as a bullet sang past his left ear. Then the gunman ran again. Bodie chased him into a darkened bedroom. The window was open, and a light breeze blew the net curtains gently inwards. The gunman thrust them aside and climbed out onto the ledge. Bodie attempted to grab his leg, but he kicked out and struggled free. Bodie got a blow on the chin that sent him staggering backwards, but he didn't fall. He threw himself towards the window just in time to see the gunman climbing not down, but up. He could see the CI5 men down below, knew he was trapped. Bodie glanced down, too, in case Doyle was there, but he couldn't see him. He must still have been in the house. A second later, just as he was following the gunman out of the window, he heard Doyle's voice somewhere inside, shouting 'HOLD IT!' then a gun firing. Bodie held his breath. Then another shot -- then running footsteps. Doyle's tread; Bodie would know it anywhere. He could breathe again.

He saw the gunman scrambling up onto the roof, and knew he was taking a huge chance. He'd done things like this in training exercises, knew how to swing himself up quickly, but even so, if the gunman stayed up there he'd be a sitting target for a good ten seconds. He could only hope that the man's priority was to get away over the flat terraced rooftops. Bodie gave him a few seconds' head start, then began to climb. He expected any second to be kicked or shot at, but it didn't happen. He made it onto the roof without incident, in time to see the gunman, running like hell. So Bodie followed, hoping that one of the other CI5 men would have the sense to drive down the end of the road, in case he didn't manage to catch up.

But he did. The gunman was slowing, and Bodie was closing in. Perhaps the gunman sensed this, because he stopped, took cover behind a chimney stack, and opened fire just as Bodie leapt over some loose tiles and onto the same roof as his quarry. Bodie rolled to the side, caught his foot on another loose tile, and went flying over the edge of the house.

Crying out in panic, Bodie made a grab for the first hand or foothold he could feel. He caught hold of the guttering with one hand, hung wildly in the air for a second, then managed to swing his other hand up to take some of his weight.

'BODIE!'

Doyle's voice. Bodie looked down to see his partner rushing down the street below, staring up at him with frightened eyes. Above him, the gunman laughed -- dangerously close, he laughed. Bodie glanced up to see him standing over him. He cocked his pistol and pointed it between Bodie's eyes.

'Call your men off!' he called down.

'NO!' Bodie yelled. 'You can't do that, Ray, you know you can't do that.'

But when he looked down again, it wasn't Doyle he saw. It was Cowley. Someone must have called him once they'd confirmed they were raiding the right house. Where was Doyle?

'Mr Sullivan!' Cowley addressed the gunman. 'That is your name, isn't it? Leonard Sullivan?'

'What's it to you?' the gunman shouted back.

'My name is George Cowley, Mr Sullivan, I'm the head of CI5. My men have just caught your brother. It's over, Mr Sullivan, finished. Come down now, or it will only get worse for you. If you give yourself up now you're merely an accessory to your brother's activities, do you understand, Leonard? An accessory. Just a helper. But if you shoot one of my men, you will die here.'

'Bullshit,' said Sullivan, and took aim. Bodie looked up again, straight into his own mortality.

That was when Doyle shot Sullivan through the head. Bodie heard a dull thump, and the trickling of blood, as the gunman fell. The next thing he heard was his name -- surely only Doyle could inject such depth of feeling into that one word! -- and the next thing he _felt_ was a pair of strong, warm hands grasping his wrists, pulling him back up onto the roof. Then Doyle was dragging him even further back, out of sight of the road below, settling him against the chimney stack. Then the hands left his wrists, and took hold of his jacket. Before Bodie had properly registered what was happening, Doyle started shaking him.

'You son of a bitch,' he said brokenly. 'You fucking moron, Bodie!'

Bodie laid his hands gently on Doyle's upper arms, and waited through the barrage of meaningless insults and admonishments.

'Ray,' he said, at the first gap in the tirade, 'can I ask a favour?'

'What?' Doyle demanded rudely, distractedly.

'Be my Valentine?' Bodie asked, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice -- how much more bizarre could this situation get? He grinned widely and unrepentantly at his still-angry partner.

'I've been that for three years, you cretin,' said Doyle, giving Bodie another bone-jarring shake.

'Hey, you're slipping. You already called me a cretin.'

'Did I tell you I love you?'

Bodie's breath caught. For the first time in a year, he reached out and touched the beloved face, as beautiful as it was flawed, except Bodie hadn't seen the flaws in a long time. Doyle closed his eyes.

'You might have slipped it in between "pillock" and "spaz," but I'm not sure,' Bodie managed to quip. 'Why don't you try saying it again later, while we're fucking each other's brains out? I might even say it back.'

'You'd better,' said Doyle. A shiver, clearly of pleasure, ran through him before he opened his eyes. They filled with warmth, and he smiled. His hands were still clutching Bodie's jacket, but now he settled them around Bodie's waist, and leaned irresistibly close.

Their first kiss had been in the rest room at HQ, a year and two days earlier. This one was in a scarcely more appropriate place: half-lying against a chimney stack on top of a terraced house in Islington, arms wrapped tightly around each other, lips saying in kisses what words couldn't satisfactorily manage, while Cowley and his men tied up the op's loose ends in the street below, and the sun started to rise on Valentine's Day.

  
__

\- THE END -

  



End file.
